


A Softer Place to Fall

by Ava_now



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Supportive Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava_now/pseuds/Ava_now
Summary: Sonny Carisi has finally found a softer place to fall.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 84





	A Softer Place to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up from your friendly author that this fic deals with mental health issues, specifically anxiety and depression. I was inspired by a fic written by Freckled Skittles entitled "Sometimes Our Biggest Enemy is Our Selves". As a person who lives with chronic depression and anxiety, her fic really struck me and spoke to me to write my own. I've always felt that both these characters probably struggled a bit with both anxiety and depression. If you're one of us, I just want to say hey friend, you're not alone even when it feels like you are. Take care of yourself like the precious soul that you are.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments (in particular!) are so welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

He opened his eyes to the twilight-lit front room. Stretched across the couch, he curled over on his side. A warm blanket had been arranged over him; he snuggled it closer, blinking his eyes slowly to take in his surroundings. The television was still playing softly on the food network, right where he’d left it. There was a glass of ice water sitting on a coaster on the coffee table, waiting for him to sip. Rafael sat, reclined in the easy chair, glasses on and quietly reading a copy of a law journal article. Every few minutes he could hear the paper crinkle as Rafael adjusted it or turned the page. 

He tucked his feet under the blanket more deeply, seeking warmth.

The first time this had happened, he had been thirteen and still recovering from the thirty-stitch gash in his head, courtesy of Bobby Bianchi. It had been three days since what his parents dubbed “the incident” had happened, and he was back in school, just as terrified as he had been before. He couldn’t help but wish somebody would have stood up for him, even walked with him through the hallways. But then again, he couldn’t blame them. He had told everyone--including Gina, who was just a year older than him--that he had tripped and fallen into the glass. Gina had raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t question, at least not until it happened.

He felt the air sucked out of him as though a demon had suddenly drawn it from every last cell. As he saw Bobby and his friends round the corner in the hall, his head began to swim in circles and he couldn’t catch a breath. He thought for a second Bobby had kicked him, until he looked up and realized Bobby was still halfway down the hall. He sank to his knees as he desperately tried to gasp for air, telling himself he would be okay if he could only catch a breath…

The next breath he remembered was in the nurse’s office, Gina hovering over him and reassuring him that their parents were on the way.

All those years ago, he hadn’t even known there was a name for it. Eventually, the doctor explained it as an anxiety disorder. He remembered how confused his mother had looked, and how his dad had looked away. When he confided in Gina, she suddenly nodded, her eyes going wide in understanding. “I get it now!” she told him, patting his knee quickly. “Like when you get those butterflies in your stomach. Don’t you have to breathe slower or something for that?”

He had known it was coming today, had felt it for the last two days, yet he had continued to hold on and insist he could plough through. There was no way in hell he was going to let anyone know, a handful of cases in, that he was struggling to fight off an anxiety attack. He knew he’d been testy; he’d snapped at Rollins yesterday when she’d asked him if he was sure calling their victim first was a good idea.

“I’m sure,” he’d answered, teeth gritted, “and I’d appreciate you remembering it’s MY job now to decide the order of witnesses.”

But it was harder to hide from Rafael. Rafael, who always saw the real Sonny, the true Sonny. The whole Sonny.

Rafael had urged him yesterday, upon arriving home, to take his anti-anxiety medication and indulge in a nap. He had cooked a light yet warm and tasty dinner that was more likely to agree with Sonny’s queasy stomach. Rafael had done the house chores and hung around quietly, should Sonny want to talk. And he had been there to hold Sonny for most of the night. The medication always made Sonny sleepy, but didn’t guarantee that sleep wouldn’t hold bad dreams.

And Rafael had made sure Sonny was up in time today, dressed for court, ready to try to push through a day that he couldn’t bear to face even though he couldn’t begin to describe why. They had shared a gentle kiss before Sonny left, and Rafael had smoothed Sonny’s hair back one more time before kissing him again. “Have a good day in court, sweetheart,” he had said with a loving squeeze to Sonny’s shoulder. “Call me if you need me.”

Sometimes Sonny wondered why Rafael put up with it. The crying, the pacing, the hyperventilating, the lack of sleep. The vomiting, the upset stomachs, the exhaustion, the headaches. He had told Rafael about the attacks before Rafael had witnessed one personally, because he wanted to give him an out. But Rafael didn’t take it. And when that attack inevitably came, Rafael helped to the best of his ability. And after, he asked how he could be of better help in the future.

He thought maybe they were meant for each other; that if such a thing as soulmates existed, Rafael was certainly his. Although Rafael never suffered from severe panic attacks, he struggled with periods of depression that affected his ability to function. It had taken months of developing trust and the closeness that went with it before Rafael had been able to talk about what he considered a personal weakness. “It’s ironic,” he had told Sonny one night, as they lay on the couch together with his fingers gently stroking Sonny’s hair, “I would never think of your anxiety disorder as a personal failing. You can’t help it, you can’t control it. You’re a hero in my eyes for how valiantly you fight it. But me? I always tell myself if I wasn’t so weak, if I was  _ normal _ , I wouldn’t struggle like this. As much as I know, intellectually, that this depression is likely a chemical imbalance, I still blame myself emotionally.”

That confession had touched Sonny’s heart in a tender way. “You know this isn’t your fault,” he had murmured softly one night after a particularly grueling week. He had noticed Rafael’s low energy, irritability, and struggle to eat. Rafael had picked at the thai food they’d picked up for dinner, then retreated to his corner of the couch. Sonny dared to move into his space. “You did all you could, baby. You can’t win all of them.” He had been surprised when Rafael suddenly relaxed into his arms, and he heard a soft sob. In that moment, he realized that they were more similar than he had ever suspected.

Now, as he lay curled on the couch, he felt a mix of exhaustion and relief moving over him. His stomach had settled now, and he wasn’t quite as tired as before. He knew this particular case had served as a trigger for him, but knowing that testimony had ended today helped him move forward and let go of the feelings rolling around inside his body. He sighed softly, then pulled the blanket closer to his face.

“You doing okay?” Rafael asked him, laying down his law journal. “Case over yet?”

“Better,” he replied, and smiled at his partner’s concerned expression. “Testimony ended today.”

Rafael nodded. “There’s chicken soup on, when you want it. You need anything else right now?” He stood and moved to the couch, sitting on the edge, and stroked Sonny’s hair. “I’m here if you need anything.”

“I’m just thankful it held off until I could get home,” Sonny admitted, pulling himself up into a ball on the couch. “You might understand, but other people…” he shook his head. No matter what people said they understood about mental health, no matter how much support they claimed they would provide, Sonny didn’t trust them. The truth was, his anxiety disorder would be seen as a weakness, and possibly something that made him unable to do his job.

A moment later Rafael was sitting next to him on the couch, arm wrapped around him. “You’re safe here,” he reassured, enveloping his partner in a warm hug. “If you need to call out tomorrow, you can.”

Sonny nodded and burrowed himself fully into Rafael’s arms, letting himself be comforted. He had fought alone for so long, unable to accurately explain what his anxiety was or how it felt. But Rafael seemed to instinctively understand. “Thank you,” Sonny told him quietly. “Thank you for understanding.”

Rafael sighed. “I don’t know that I do understand, sweetheart,” he confessed, his fingers stroking Sonny’s shoulder. “I don’t know that understanding is my job. But I do know it’s my job to believe your experience, and to love you and to help you as much as I can. I love you, Sonny. And I know you’re going to continue to work through this, and you’re going to be okay.”

Sonny leaned forward and pressed his lips to Rafael’s. “You help more than you know,” he murmured softly, then lay his head on Rafael’s shoulder. They would eat dinner later, maybe talk a little more. Tomorrow would come and life would continue. But Sonny was grateful he had someone he could lean on, a softer place to fall.


End file.
